Ethan tapped the bar. “Make me your cocktail. And without getting tacky—we don’t twirl bottles here—give me something to look at.”
“Huh?” Andy’s tie made his blue eyes a shade darker, but it had clearly developed a new ability of tightening at crucial moments, throttling the wearer. He couldn’t breathe. He was a performer, for God’s sake. What was wrong with him? He’d always excelled at improv sessions, even when the audience was hostile or unreceptive, and Ethan was neither of those. More like a teacher with a disappointing student, waiting for the correct answer and sure it wouldn’t be forthcoming.
“I’m a customer in a classy cocktail bar. I’m about to pay fifteen dollars for a fancy drink with an improbable name from an attractive young man.” Ethan’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. More of a pained grimace. “Give me my money’s worth, Mr. Naylor. Charm me, so the tip I leave is a generous one.”
Andy eased the knot on the tie and gave Ethan smile number four—or five. He’d lost count. “Sure thing.”
Ethan’s gray eyes hardened and he raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, sir?” Andy hazarded.
“Better.”
If he got the job—and it wasn’t looking likely—he hoped this guy stayed in his office and delegated. Working under that chilled-steel glare was going to rack up the breakages. His hands sweating, he turned to survey the bottles. They weren’t in any order he could see, not at first, and his gaze darted from bottle to shakers, swizzle sticks to frankly scary implements whose purpose he could only guess at. He’d never realized how much stuff there was back here.
“You said on your application you’d worked behind a bar before.”
“Yes, true, I did, I—” For ten minutes. As a favor to his friend, Paula, who’d been called away to sign for a delivery with no one else around to take over. He’d flirted for six of the ten minutes and mixed a vodka and coke that was supposed to be a double but had been a quadruple by the time he’d worked out how to get the upside down bottle to release a full measure.
Ethan stood, hand slashing through the air, a dismissive gesture that stung like an actual blow. “You’re wasting my time.”
“I’m not! Look, let me—” Andy snatched up a martini glass. He turned, setting it down, then lifting it again and grabbing a cocktail napkin to go under it, emblazoned with the hotel’s logo. “You look like a man in the mood for something smooth and sophisticated.”
“Is that so?” A flat growl, but Ethan sat again then crossed one leg over the other, the impeccably pressed trousers he wore pulling taut across his thigh.
Cocktail shaker. Take off the lid. Scoop up some ice. God, the metal of the shaker got cold fast. Andy threw a grin over his shoulder, toning down his inner slut before he added a wiggle of his ass. “Trust me, sir. It’s my job to know what my customers need.”
Calling Ethan sir felt wickedly good, as if he was getting away with something, flirting without anyone knowing. Where the fuck had that come from? He was used to examining his motivations when he was playing a role, not so much when it came to himself. Andy shoved the question aside to think about later or better yet, forget. Now what the hell had he put in that drink? Vodka. Yeah. A cheap Polish one had been on sale at the liquor store and he’d bought two bottles for the party.
He picked up a bottle of Grey Goose and sloshed some into the shaker, shielding what he did from Ethan’s view because he was probably supposed to measure it. What else? Cointreau had been involved, the screw top sticky with crystalized sugar, hard to open since no one had used it in months. The bottle behind this bar opened smoothly, the neck clean. He added a slug of the liqueur and a quick shot of club soda from the gun then put the top on the shaker.
Turning back to Ethan, he began a brisk shake, the rattle and swoosh of the ice sounding reassuringly professional. He had the common sense to hold the top. Showering his prospective boss with freezing liquid would leave him without a job and probably barred from the hotel for life. When condensation clouded the outside of the shaker, he removed the top with a flourish, poured the drink into the glass then looked around for a garnish.
“The fruit for the drinks is sliced shortly before opening,” Ethan said, reading his intention but with luck, not his mind. “What would you have used?”
“Orange,” Andy said promptly. “No sense trying to fight the Cointreau.”
“Hmm.”
Ethan raised the glass to the light, studying it. The clear liquid held a silvery glow. It wasn’t fancy, but something told him Ethan wasn’t a fan of complicated. “What do you call it?”
Since ‘damned if I know’ wasn’t going to cut it, Andy shortened his late grandmother’s favorite saying about necessity being the mother of invention to one word.
“It’s a Necessity.”
Ethan took a sip, then another, before pushing the glass away. “Make it again, this time using lemonade. The real stuff. There’s some in the fridge over there.”
“Yes, sir.” It slipped out naturally this time, drawn from him by the note of authority in Ethan’s voice.
Ethan tasted the new version, rolling the liquid around like mouthwash, though he didn’t spit it out. After swallowing, he pursed his lips. “Okay, it’s basic but it’s not bad.”
“I’ve got the job?”
Ethan snorted. “No. You got a compliment you barely deserved on a drink that’s halfway to being a real cocktail. You never stood a chance with the job, not once the lies on your application outnumbered my thumbs. I would’ve let you get away with shining up your experience, but you can’t polish thin air. You’ve wasted my time. The door’s over there, eh?”
“Wait!” Andy’s hands were cold now, disappointment and nerves shredding his optimism. “I need this job.”
“Were you telling the truth about the acting degree from UBC?”
“Yes!” His indignation made the word echo off the walls. He took out his wallet. “My student card’s in here somewhere.” He needed to clear out his wallet. Along with his single credit card, close to maxed out, were expired vouchers for free coffee, receipts and cinema tickets.
“Don’t bother. I can tell when you’re lying and that sounded true. So you’re a wannabe actor looking for a job until he gets offered a starring role?”
Yes, but admitting it would guarantee he was shown the door. Time to test Ethan’s lie detector skills with a half-truth. “Three years ago, yes. Now I’m a guy who’s been to more auditions than there are bottles in this bar and I know it’s not going to happen. I need to pay my rent and I’m not fussy about how I do it.”
“Even if it’s bar work?” Ethan asked.
Had his eyelid drooped in a wink?
“We both know that a trained monkey can mix drinks, smile and make change, right?”
Andy laughed, relaxing with Ethan as if their moods were magically linked. “I guess.”
Ethan slapped the bar, a flat, uncompromising smack, making Andy jump like a hooked fish. “Wrong. And with an attitude like that, good luck getting any job. Bartending’s not rocket science, but people take courses in it. Get trained. For a place with a reputation to uphold, it’s mandatory. You’re not good enough to work here. Aside from a pretty face, name one skill you have that would interest me.”
Ethan thought he was pretty? Well, he was—no doubt about it—but straight guys didn’t notice shit like that. Not proof Ethan was gay, but a definite pointer. It didn’t matter to Andy, of course. Ethan probably had a sophisticated boyfriend waiting for him when he got home. He was too tightly wound to be Andy’s type anyway. Though de-icing the guy would be a fun challenge. Hmm. What was underneath the stern disapproval? A molten center or a lake of beige?
Time to get on his knees, metaphorically at least.
“I can learn.” The words poured out—pleading, begging words. “I can learn fast. Show me once and it’s all I need.”
For a moment, he saw something in Ethan’s eyes. Interest, heat, as if his words had pushed a bi
g red button inside Ethan’s head where dark fantasies lurked. And that was what getting up early did to you. Hallucinations. Random acts of insanity. He blinked and Ethan looked indifferent again.
“Save the theatrics. Though if that’s the best you can do, I can see why you’re looking for a job.”
Ouch. And fuck you, sir.
“I want staff I don’t need to train,” Ethan continued. “This is a hotel, not a college.”
Speaking quickly before Ethan walked away, Andy said, “You told me the job’s open in two weeks when someone starts her maternity leave.”
“Amanda in ten days. So?”
“In ten days—no, in one week—I can learn everything I need. I’ll hit the library and get a friend who works the bar at a club to coach me. See me again in a week and I’ll prove I’m worth taking a chance on.”
Ethan studied him. “You are desperate.”
Andy ran his hand through his shaggy hair, back to its natural dirty blond after highlighting had wrecked its condition. “Yeah, eviction and impending starvation do that to a guy.”
“And you’ve got quite the mouth on you.”
“So my dates tell me,” Andy retorted with the recklessness of pure despair. Shit, he’d shaved, removed all his piercings and combed his hair into something resembling tidiness, though the wind had undone his efforts there. He’d made an effort, not to mention getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be here at eight. He deserved more than a flat rejection and a few insults.
“I think you’ll find my standards are more exacting than theirs.”
A rush of arousal swept through him, the source startling him. Andy lived in a perpetual state of horniness. He liked sex—liked it a lot. A week without anything except his hand and the vibrating butt plug he’d got for his birthday as a gag gift, and he was whimpering. Not that a week between encounters happened often. Shit, turned on by a block of ice and a sneer, though? Something wrong there. Ethan wasn’t like his usual hookups. Older. Most definitely not a party animal. Strict. Andy went for men his age and they passed into his life then out with a smile and a wave. He preferred it that way. Ethan didn’t seem the one-night stand kind of guy. And yet he was making Andy’s libido break into a tango even with the implication that Andy wasn’t good enough for him.
Or because of it.
“I want this position filled today.” Ethan tapped his finger against the bar slowly, a rhythmic drumming.
Outside the room, the hotel was busy, people checking out or ordering breakfast in the huge dining room. The night before, Andy had looked up the hotel online. The food on offer throughout the day sounded delicious. If he stayed here—not that he could afford it—he’d splash out on the breakfast buffet, even if it did cost thirty-five bucks. Mimosas, eggs Benedict, omelets, smoothies blended to order…sure beat the chopped up melon and stale pastries most places offered for the same price.
“I leave for a conference at noon and I won’t get back in time to do any more interviews before Amanda leaves. You’re the last applicant I’ve seen and in some ways the least qualified, but…”
“Yeah?” Andy prompted when Ethan drifted off, mouth screwed up in thought, forehead furrowed. “But?”
Ethan’s attention snapped back to him and there it was again, that slow, relentless wash of need, leaving Andy’s cock pressed uncomfortably between his stomach and the too-tight trousers of a suit he’d last worn at graduation. Auditions called for something more casual, mostly.
“Two of the applicants were overqualified.” Ethan smiled thinly. “They were looking to replace me in time, I could tell, and that’s not going to happen. I like it here.” He glanced around, expression softening as if every sparkling glass, every square inch of spotless carpet, was down to him. “Another was arrogant—argumentative, even. Not the sort to take direction well.”
“He was? I mean, he wasn’t?” Arguing with Ethan? Now that took balls. And when it came to Ethan, Andy found himself prepared to follow all sorts of directions. Like ‘get on your knees and rock my world, Andy’. It wouldn’t be breaking his rules. Blowing Ethan would be pure pleasure. He was sure of it, though it was unlikely he’d ever verify his theory. Well, that was what jerk-off fantasies were for.
“She—and yes. The last one was barely able to speak above a whisper.”
“You are kind of intimidating.” Ethan had to know that already, but he couldn’t help defending his fellow interviewee.
Ethan snorted. “You don’t seem to think so. But you’re useless. I’d sooner limp along short-staffed than fill the position with someone I’d end up firing by the end of the week.”
“You wouldn’t!” Andy spread his hands helplessly. “What can I do to make you give me a chance?”
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About the Author
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women’s Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies.
Email: [email protected]
Lucy loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
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